


Measure You in Stars

by Meridians_of_Madness



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Sugar Daddy, Happy, Light Angst, M/M, Praise Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-17
Updated: 2020-10-17
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:55:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27055258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meridians_of_Madness/pseuds/Meridians_of_Madness
Summary: Aziraphale isn't sure what to call his relationship with Crowley. Crowley is sure it doesn't matter.-Written for the kink meme prompt foundhere
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 127





	Measure You in Stars

It had taken Aziraphale an embarrassingly long while to catch on, but in his defense, Crowley did a rather good impression of someone who liked Regency literature.

“The Internet, angel, that's all. I could look up the top ten arguments for Darcy's land management standing in for his good credentials as a husband and away we went.”

“Rotten boy,” Aziraphale said, trying not to sound so pleased. It didn't do to encourage young Crowley overly much, not when it was so easy to do so.

A single well-placed word of praise could set Crowley to stammering, a gentle stroke of his arm might have him whipping out that black credit card of his, and then, well, who knew what he might do? It wasn't like Aziraphale disliked Jacobean first editions or trips to Athens, but he firmly felt that there ought to be limits on this sort of thing, whatever it was.

“You could be my mistress,” Crowley said mischievously, late one night in the shop. “Is there a different word for it if you're a man?”

He sat on the counter by the register, legs dangling over the edge like a schoolboy, and Aziraphale admired the long, lean grace of him for a moment before he remembered an answer was likely expected.

“I'm afraid not,” he said. “The English language is rather tilted away from relationships like this one. I suppose I might be a kept man, if you must have a term for it.”

“Keeping you,” Crowley said, his gaze roving possessively over Aziraphale's form. “That's not bad. Sugar baby might suit too, all that pale hair of yours.”

Aziraphale snorted, shaking his head.

“Please no,” he said, carrying an armful of books by. “Concubine, perhaps, or favorite, after George Villiers, would be better.”

Crowley's hand snagged at the back of his jacket, pulling Aziraphale back.

“Oh, _favorite_ ,” he said, as if he had never heard the word before. “I like that, that's you now.”

“Your favorite?” asked Aziraphale, unable to keep the warmth out of his voice.

“Yeah..."

Crowley wrapped his long arms around Aziraphale from behind. He buried his face between Aziraphale's shoulderblades, suddenly shy as he could be sometimes.

“'Cos you are.”

Aziraphale sighed, setting down the books and turning to pull Crowley into his arms. He stroked his back firmly as Crowley curled against him. He suspected that it had been much too long a time between hugs for Crowley before he wandered into the small bookshop in Soho, but it was fine. They were making up for it in the present.

“You don't mind?” whispered Crowley, and Aziraphale's thoughts briefly flashed murderous over who had ever made a man as sweet as Crowley that doubtful over whether he was permitted to be _nice._

“You're my favorite, too,” he said softly, and he gasped as Crowley abruptly pulled back, a slightly wild-eyed grin on his face. He slithered down from the counter and took Aziraphale's hand. He could be as changeable as a storm at sea, and if there was ever a chance of Aziraphale guarding his heart from Crowley's wild beauty, it was long gone.

“Oh, precious angel, you really do know what gets my motor running, don't you?” Crowley exclaimed.

“Do I?” he asked wryly. He didn't, actually. In that department, Crowley seemed as uninterested as Aziraphale himself, which made for a nice change.

“You do!” Crowley said, dragging him towards the door. “Oh, you've done it this time. What I won't give you for being so sweet. What's your pleasure, angel? Rome again? Paris, Vancouver? I want to watch the sun rise on you having whatever it is you like best.”

Oh dear, this was where a goodly soul would say no, wasn't it? It wasn't required at all, not when a night at home with a book and Crowley drowsing quietly next to him was so very lovely, but Crowley had a while to go before he really believed it, and well. Aziraphale supposed that if he was really an angel, he was a rather bad one.

“Florence,” Aziraphale said, holding his breath, waiting to see if this would be the time that Crowley would balk. Maybe this time he would realize that he was an incredibly attractive, incredibly wealthy man who had somehow taken up with a dusty bookseller who had fallen into a pile of tweed and never looked back.

“I want to go to Florence, and I want to try tagliere and crostini nere...”

“Those had better be expensive, angel,” Crowley laughed, pulling him out into the rain. “I want you to count up in dollars and pounds and euros how much I adore you.”

_As if I couldn't count it up in stars in the sky,_ Aziraphale thought, and laughing, he locked up the bookshop and left it all behind.


End file.
